Part of your World
by WrenWinterSong
Summary: One chess piece is not like the others. QLFC Season 4: Semi-Finals. Score: 9.5/10


**Author's Note:** This story was written for the QLFC Season 4 Semi-Finals. The Falcon team had to write from the perspective of The Giant Chessboard. As Beater 2, my optional prompts were (color) rose gold, (song) 'Part of Your World' from _The Little Mermaid,_ and (word) heartbeat. Thanks to Terry, Tiggs, and Arty for beta reading! Hope you enjoy!

Word count: 2984

* * *

 _i._

Do I remember waking? Yes, of course, that is a ridiculous question. I remember the darkness—no, I remember the light. The shimmering white light that woke me from my slumber and chased away the darkness.

What I do not remember is falling asleep.

 _ii._

The darkness comes again, but I am awake this time. My mind is empty and still as I muse about how I can muse at all. These are thoughts… These are thoughts! I think, therefore, I am. Oh, how do I know that?

Doesn't matter. For now, all that matters is that my mind exists, feeling less empty and less still, as these thoughts continue swirling like the shadows around my sight.

These are not just thoughts, though. Behind this internal monologue, I can hear another voice, echoing in the background as if it were fighting through this darkness to reach me.

" _Minerva… will you marry me?"_

 _iii._

Like the single drop of rain that causes the river to flood, bits of my past come back to me in these… oh, what's the word? I know this… these _memories_!

I was not always here. I was not always this shape or this color. I never used to take up so much room.

My memories roll backwards, reminding me of my growth in a bright light. Set upon a checkered floor, the room seemed to be shrinking as the ground and the chess pieces around me all expanded simultaneously. I could see them for only a moment before the world was dark.

Most of my past resides in darkness. Before being set in the underground room, I travelled in the tight quarter of a wooden box, unable to see what or who I clattered against as we moved. And before being set in that box, I had been in a drawer, alone and still.

No, no, no, that's not the correct chronology. (My word, when did such a long word become part of my vocabulary? Oh, that one too!)

After the drawer but before the box was a transformation. I sat in the center of her barren desk, a ring of rose gold with a single rough diamond pointed out towards the window.

"Only one's most prized possessions can be transfigured into something sentient," she said to herself, her eyes trained towards the door as if she couldn't bear to look at me. Then, she turned her eyes to me and lifted her lips in a half smile. "I do wish I'd never lost that bishop."

 _iv._

There is a stirring in my mind, and I sense other memories, deeper memories, attempting to barge into my conscious. The more I try to reach for them, though, the farther away they seem.

A new sensation creeps over me as I stretch for these far away memories: time. I can it feel it passing by like rushing water, slipping away at a constant, relentless pace. There is nothing to mark the passing of the time in this lightless room apart from my knowledge that it is indeed passing. I begin to understand how long I travelled inside the wood box—about an hour—and that the time I spent inside the lonely drawer was much longer than that. I still can't remember being put there in the first place, although something still nags me, telling me there was a before.

It is around this time that the other voices start.

 _v._

"What d'you say, old whitey? Care for a match?"

"It is not allowed. The Goddess has given her command that we must remain still until a challenger comes along."

"Yes, yes, and we must listen to whatever fool marches in while _you_ lot must win at whatever costs."

"Well, we _are_ the winning side."

"Want to say that to my sword, you old coot?"

"Now, now, contain yourselves, all of you. No need to lose our sense."

"No need to lose our senses? We've already lost all of our senses! There is nothing to see here, nothing to smell but the damp stones, and nothing to hear but each other!"

"We must do what Minerva has asked of us. It is of the utmost importance."

"Forgive me if I've lost trust in what our commander deems important."

"Blasphemy! You foolish knight, you must never doubt our Lady!"

"Oh, put a brick in it, will you? Your religious prattling is more annoying than any of that knight's boasting."

"Perhaps you need a reminder of your place, pawn."

"Don't you dare step off your square! What do you think will happen if, in the midst of us fighting each other, an enemy manages to sneak past? Do you think that the High Queen will do anything less than set us all ablaze for our disobedient failure?"

"Must you call her that?"

"She gives commands that we follow like any royalty does."

"Yes, but 'High Queen'? Do you not find that insulting?"

"Her status does not threaten my own. _My_ subjects respect me no matter the title."

"I'd almost forgotten we're nothing more than _subjects_. Thanks for the reminder, Queenie."

"How dare you–!"

"Hold on! Everyone be quiet! I think… I think I heard the new bishop."

"…"

"Hello?"

 _vi._

I have no idea how I spoke that greeting without a mouth, but the chess pieces heard and understood.

"Well, finally!"

"We were beginning to think you'd never come to."

"Sorry you're next to that haughty old cow."

"Don't pay any mind to the white queen. She's been knocked around a few too many times."

"Glad you decided to get in before anyone tried to play across. That would've been embarrassing."

"Who cares about that? Now we can actually play a proper game!"

"That still isn't going to happen."

Their chatter is incessant, each voice tumbling together into one long buzz. I can pick out at least two dozen different voices but quickly lose track of who's said what.

"Would you all shut up?" Though the volume of each voice is the same, I feel that this one is closer to me, as if whatever sound or thought waves have made this communication possible vibrate stronger against my stone body. "Give the piece a moment, will you?"

"The piece?" I try to recall an image of myself, but all I can remember is the ring. That's not who I am anymore. She—the Goddess, High Queen, Minerva—changed me. I remember growing and expanding, but did I ever see my new self? Only a glimpse in the polished wood of her desk: an almost human form, black as my current surroundings, a tall hat on my head and a rose gold staff in my hand.

"A chess piece," I say as it all comes together. "I'm a chess piece?"

There is a heartbeat of silence, then the near voice from before sighs. "We've got a long road ahead of us."

 _vii._

My existence—and, yes, my lack of knowledge—leads to much time passing as the other pieces debate whether Minerva (that name feels more right than the others) would prefer for them to follow her previous instructions or teach me the way of the game.

"As a black piece, the bishop would only have to follow the instruction of whoever is playing against us," one of the white bishops argues. It seems all the bishops are against any piece moving even a centimeter, with many of the pawns, most of the rooks, and my own black queen agreeing.

The black knight next to me argues with the bishops most often, though the other knights, one of the black rooks, and the white queen jump in on occasion. "Knowing where the squares are and what they're called is important, though," the black knight says. "Or would you rather send out one of your companions to make a fool out of all of us?"

The white bishop scoffs. "As if I would believe any chess piece, let alone a bishop, wouldn't even know which square was which."

"Actually," I say, "I didn't even know the squares had names."

There is silence, then a few mutterings not meant for me that come in as inaudible whispers, then the authoritative voice of the white bishop says, "We can direct you when the time comes."

The knights shout back their protests, drowning out the insults that the white queen is throwing at her bishop. Although I have learned to filter the voices, I feel just as overwhelmed as I did the first day.

A single thud comes from the center of my row, silencing everyone in under a second. The black king clears his throat. "I propose a single game be played in preparation for an opponent. We could all use the practice."

I expect the bishops to charge into another uproar, but they all remain quiet, pausing, waiting. Just when I think perhaps nothing more will happen, a voice from across the board—the white king—speaks. "I agree. Our purpose is the protection of Hogwarts. This is the best way."

There is another pause before the grumblings and murmurs start up again. One of the rooks asks, "But how are we to play when we can't even see the board?"

The pieces mutter to each other, exchanging ideas, but no one offers up a solution. I swear I can feel the smugness of the white bishop.

"The room was lit when we first came here," the white queen says. "Perhaps there is a way to turn the lights back on."

"Oh, are you a witch now?" the other black bishop asks. "Have a wand on you to swish about?"

It only takes one jab to start them all up again. All I can do is hope an opponent never shows up at this point, but then the voice of a pawn shouts above the rest. "You useless lot, I'll find the damn light!"

The room shines bright, glaring off the white pieces across from me. The white pawn that should be in front of the queen stands one space forward. All of the pieces are frozen in shock at the simplicity of the solution. Movement. Movement lights the wicks of the candles surrounding them.

The black knight glances at me, and though there is no face between the slits of the helmet, I can feel a smile. "I guess it's our turn now."

 _viii._

The practice game goes well enough despite the white pieces directing me to all the wrong spaces. Even with their snickering, I don't feel any hostility from them. The rivalry between the black and white sides is prominent, but it's all in good fun. Even the bristly white bishop bans swords from this round to keep all the pieces in good health. I suppose the intention was for the pieces to simply tap each other out, but everyone instead invents their own attack, some tickling and others twisting around helmets. The black knight turns around and flicks the other pieces across the face with its horse tail.

I have no way to mark the time, but much of it goes by before the black queen says, "Checkmate." The black pieces cheer and laugh as they congratulate each other and make their way back to their proper spots.

"Maybe the High Queen picked the wrong side after all," the black knight says. We walk together back to our spaces and settle into the darkness again as the candlelight extinguishes.

The white side whispers together, making sure we cannot hear them picking apart where they went wrong and strategizing for the next game. For once, there is mostly silence in my head, which is why I jump when the black knight asks, "And how did you find your first match?"

"I suppose it wasn't horrible," I say, even though I'm sure my elation is soaking the air around us.

"Not horrible," the black knight repeats. "Not quite a compliment, not quite an insult. You really are a lot like Dougal."

"What?"

"You know. He was such a diplomat, always taking the middle ground. And he could be a bit quiet as well but also thoughtful. Both of you know when to speak up."

I feel a bit uncomfortable, as if I should know this person but can't recall any person beside Minerva. "It sounds like you knew him well."

"Well, he only ever played one game with us, and we were all frozen, him being a Muggle and all. But Queen Minerva talked of him often when she played with Isobel. You tend to hear a lot when the witches and wizards don't think you're listening."

"Yes," I say, agreeing even though those words mean little to me. I have no idea what a Muggle is or who Isobel is, though I have that nagging feeling again that I should. "So, who was this Dougal?"

The black knight pauses. "You don't remember him?"

"No," I say. "Should I?"

"I… I don't know. I don't know how this works for a chess piece that hasn't always been a chess piece. Maybe you shouldn't."

But maybe I should.

 _iv._

Just as the kings ordered, we only played that one game. Most of our time is now spent going over different strategies for the white side. They mustn't lose again.

Unfortunately, I'm not much help. According to the white bishop, I'm more useful when I don't speak up at all. My time is lonely, split between attempting to understand the complex plays the others are discussing and digging into the depths of my mind for those lost memories. Since our conversation about Dougal, the black knight has been distant, and the queen on my other side has given me the cold shoulder since the practice game. I'm still the outsider.

More and more time passes until I don't even notice it anymore. I long for the solitude of my drawer once more while also yearning to be one of them. If only I could learn enough to be a real chess piece instead of an imposter, maybe I could belong here.

Then a new sound echoes through the room—the squeak of a door—and the lights illuminate us all. The chatter stops as we all watch a mumbling man in a turban step up to the board.

"Yes, yes, a chess game," the man says. "I won't fail you." I glance around, but there doesn't seem to be anyone else with him.

He shoos away the king and stands in the center of my row with his hands folded. "Confident, then, is he?" the white queen says with challenging snark. "Let's show him how misleading an ego can be."

The atmosphere is nothing like the practice game. No one giggles or teases. The white queen commands with an ear listening to the suggestions of those on both sides of the board. Everyone is hoping for the white side to win and grumbles at every clever move of this turbaned opponent.

He favors the knights and the rooks, leaving my fellow bishop and me to linger back. The white queen targets the opponent's favorites, instructing the white bishop to take out one of the black rooks. The bishop lifts his staff and knocks it against the side of the castle, shoving the rook onto the floor. I gasp as bits of black stone scatter before the white bishop drags the rook to the side. Truly, this is nothing like our practice round.

After one attack, pieces fall again and again until nearly half of them lay unmoving off the board. They are still alive, right? This game can't possibly be _that_ brutal. My fears are overwhelming, though, and I have no way to chase away those doubts. I can only watch and flinch as pieces pile up.

The black knight who has stood next to me for so long is in the center of it all, brushing by without a scratch. The white queen knows and moves forward herself, her sword raised.

"No!" I think I shout in my own mind, but as the other pieces flinch towards me, I realize it has reached theirs. I don't care. All I can see is the blade slicing down while the black knight's faceless face stares back at me.

 _ix._

I remember. This feeling, I remember it. It hurts. It's opened up a hole that can never be filled.

Dougal. He loved me. He made me. No wonder I am like him. He kept me secure in his pocket until that day in the freshly plowed field. We were both so happy.

" _Minerva… will you marry me?"_

" _I… yes, Dougal, yes."_

I left with Minerva, tucked away in her pocket as she paced the floor of her room. Then morning came, and I was in her hand, reaching out to him. But he intended me for one and only one. I was not meant for him. I was hers.

All those days strung on a chain and nestled next to her heartbeat. Never have I felt that safe or warm again. When she removed me years later, it felt like a part of me was ripping off. "To new beginnings," she had said, then shut me in that drawer.

I remember falling asleep.

 _x._

Our battle is lost. Only a few commands later, the white king tosses his crown at the feet of the turbaned man and gestures for the remaining pieces to step aside. The man hurries through the door without a glance at my fallen companions.

Yes, my companions. Because even if I am still a bit of an outsider here, if, given the choice, I would rather remain here than in that lonely drawer. I may not belong here perfectly just yet, but I do belong.

"Worried about me, were you?" I start as the black knight walks towards me, limping with each step.

I smile. "Maybe a bit concerned."

"You'll get used to it."


End file.
